Russ smiled evasively. “Oh, I don’t know. We thought we might go up to the border and watch your boys run some of these logs down the big river.”
Jonas shook his head. “Water level’s too low. You boys want to see a gen-u-wine logging drive, come back up here next spring.”
Sandy was disappointed. “I sure hoped to see that. Do lumberjacks really ride on top of the logs the way you see it in the movies?”
Jonas raised an eyebrow. “I’ll say they do, son. Why a good river hog can ride a fresh pine log through the mill tail as pretty as a Hawaiian on a surfboard. Say, maybe we can put on a bit of a show for you at that. C’mon.”
He led them down the slope toward a small pond nestling in the valley. On the way, he called to two loggers stacking logs.
“Pete! Charley! Want to show off your birling for our visitors?”
Wearing big grins, the two husky men fell in behind them.
“Pete and Charley are the camp champs,” Jonas explained.
“What’s birling?” Quiz asked.
“A game the old-timers dreamed up to pass the time on long drives. Two men set themselves on opposite ends of a log and then they try to shake each other off into the drink.”